I know that you think that Grumppa is old, but that’s a good thing. It’s good for you to see the different generations in your life through yours, your parents, and your grandparents. The oldest of you even had the wonderful privilege of knowing your great, great, Grandma Hall for a short period.
As for me, I kind of grew out of birthdays. My brothers and sister had moved away and my birthday was just one in five that occurred in a little over a month:
- Uncle Steve – May 18
- Uncle Tom – June 4th
- Me – June 12th
- Uncle Jim – June 27th
- Aunt Sue – July 8th
But that’s a story for another time. I just never saw my birthday as that big of a deal.
Not that I don’t celebrate them; I just went to a big family birthday party for Uncle Tom who turned 80 last week. If I reach that milestone, I may just celebrate too. Whether it’s who I am or just the nature of memory, my two most remembered birthdays are not of the happy kind.
The first occurred in 2009. I had been told that my job would end on….. you guessed it… my birthday. Not that there wasn’t celebration; there was, it just wasn’t for me. The organization was celebrating an achievement milestone and I was shown the door in a hurry so they could get back to celebrating.
The second was in 2016 when my sister passed away. I’m not good at remembering dates that I don’t want to think about, so knowing our bond, I have a sneaky suspicion that my sister chose that day intentionally—a final, permanent way to make sure her little brother never forgot her. There was celebration that day, but it was for her leaving a world of pain and suffering (she had cancer) and going on to a much better place.
Have I created any traditions? Sort of. Every year I look at my Facebook page and see all the people who wished me a happy birthday. I try to come up with my one annual Grumppa Facebook post where I talk about another year passing and what it means. This year, I just may point everyone to this post.
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